People in Georgetown are so vexed right now, after being snubbed by everyone from Ivanka Trump to the Obamas to Jeff Bezos; they all hear your not-that-quietly-whispered “More like Notgoodenoughtown!” wisecracks, and they know there’s no real comeback. It’s been a fall from grace on par with Kim waking up one morning and realizing that she’s now like the third or fourth hottest Kardashian, at best. Of course, she’s still the richest, and so is Georgetown, but for how long? Every “name” neighborhood has some prestige built into the property values, but for Georgetown, a geographically isolated neighborhood in an era when centrality has become the highest virtue, losing its gilded reputation could be catastrophic. I wouldn’t be surprised if the same secret Georgetown citizens group that keeps blocking the metro stop is plotting right now to airdrop a bedbug infestation onto Kalorama.
On the other hand, it’s kind of nice when the pressure of being the “it” spot moves elsewhere. It’s like being a regular at a dive bar that becomes overrun with scenesters; once they move on to the next hotspot, the return to normalcy feels so nice. The bar is as good as it ever was, it’s just that the annoying people are somewhere else. That’s how I feel about places like this: who cares if people aren’t super-impressed by the address if the house is this nice? Behind that hyper-modern glass facade (the front of the house is basically one huge window) is a living room with 21-foot ceilings, so when you go on vacation and your teenager throws a party, someone will probably shoot off bottle rockets from the sofa. The main living area is open and airy, with a loft-like overhang, underneath which is the sleek gourmet kitchen. There are high-end stainless steel appliances and those frosted glass cabinets where you can sort of tell there’s something in the cabinet, but you can’t be sure if it’s a salad spinner or a rabid possum that chewed through the wall.
The open staircase leads to a second level sitting room with so much direct southern exposure that between 11AM and 1PM you might spontaneously combust if you’re wearing too much black. The sitting area flows into the owner’s suite, which features a private balcony overlooking all the houses that weren’t quite good enough for the Obamas, Ivanka Trump, and Jeff Bezos. The owner’s bath is very nice; there’s a massive glass-walled steam shower that’s described in the listing as a “two person steam shower,” which is basically the same as calling it a “hot sex chamber.” And the jetted soaking tub is so nice you might actually get up twenty minutes earlier in the morning to take a bath instead of a shower. (Or alternately, you could just start coming into work twenty minutes later. Just tell people you have to start dropping off your made-up kid at school, no one actually listens to their coworkers’ family anecdotes, so no one will realize the kid doesn’t exist.) There are also twin basins and a balcony, which is not something I’ve seen in a bathroom before; the temptation to go out there naked after a shower, to “air dry” yourself would be hard to resist. (I’m sure the temptation will lessen after the third or fourth time your neighbors call the police.)
The lower level is hands down the nicest in-law suite I’ve ever seen, with lots of light, a top-flight kitchen, and patio access in the front and garden access in the back. This in-law suite is far too nice for your in-laws, unless you married into a ton of money, in which case they basically bought this house for you so you can’t really not let them stay down here. Out back is a flagstone patio and an awesome hot tub, for wintertime hot cider-drinking and relaxation, and summertime rashes and Legionnaire’s disease. And finally there’s a two car garage which is nicer and larger than any apartment I’ve ever lived in. (If I become a Che Guevara-style revolutionary someday, I bet scholars will trace my awakening back to that line.)
3609 R Street NW
3 Bedrooms, 4 Baths
Photos courtesy MRIS; listing courtesy Washington Fine Properties, 202-944-5000